Fall Together
by AnRevival
Summary: A plane crash, an island, and an injury. That's all it takes to bring them together. Randy/John/Punk
1. Chapter 1

I think this has probably become the biggest wrestling slash cliché on this site but…you know what? I've already written about six chapters of this story and it's still coming out pretty fast.

Also, there will eventually be a three way relationship in this story that includes one wrestler that is no longer in WWE and swears he'll never come back.

Also, the medical stuff is probably completely inaccurate but I figure so is surviving a crash like this too so…

I do not own anyone mentioned in this fic

Xxxxxxx

"A private plane? Seriously?" The words were half amused, and spoken against John's neck, right at his pulse point. Randy followed them with a dart of his tongue that made John shiver.

"It's a twenty hour flight," John answered, gripping Randy's hips to pull him closer. "You really want to spend all that time stuffed in-between our co-workers?"

Randy chuckled and pulled back slightly. "Tell the truth. This is just because I wouldn't join the mile high club while we were on a flight with our co-workers."

John shrugged. "That might be part of it," he said, unabashedly. "Besides, it's not like this is something I'm gonna do all the time. In fact, considering how much it cost…"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not going to call you vain or a diva or something if that's what you're worried about."

The laugh that escaped John was cut off when Randy dipped down to kiss him. "We've still got time before we have to leave, right?" He asked when he pulled back.

John nodded. "Uh huh."

Randy grinned and sat up on John's hips so he could pull his shirt off. "Good."

Xxxxxxxx

Two hours later, John waiting near the gate at the airport, idly checking his texts when he spotted another of his co-workers. He hadn't expected anyone to still be there. Hiring a private plane had given John and Randy the opportunity to fly out later than the others.

"Hey!" He called, stepping away from his gate to gain the man's attention. "Punk!"

Punk gave a start and then turned to him with a frown on his face. "John? What the hell are you still doing here?"

"Could ask you the same thing," John pointed out. Punk grumbled something under his breath and John raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I overslept, alright."

_That_ surprised a laugh out of John. "You…overslept? Since when do you sleep?"

Punk scowled a bit. "I sleep." He paused. "Just not very much. Besides, I was up for almost thirty six hours before last night. I kind of crashed. It happens."

"You get another flight?"

"Yeah only now I'm going to miss the first show." Irritation leaked into his tone and John chewed on his lip for a moment, considering. Randy was going to be pissed but…

"Why don't you fly with us? I might have rented a private plane…"

"Us? As in you and Orton?" Punk grimaced and John rolled his eyes. He and Punk may have become friends over the past couple of years but Punk and Randy had never gotten along.

"You want to make the live shows or not?" John pressed him. Punk paused, seemed to consider it but before he could answer, Randy finally made it back over to them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked immediately, glaring at Punk like he was interrupting something. Which, considering what John had just offered, that wasn't entirely inaccurate.

"He missed his flight," John said, meeting Randy's eyes.

"What? John…" There was something of a warning in Randy's tone.

John sighed, giving Randy an imploring look. For a minute, neither of them said anything. Mostly they were just staring each other down. John tried to convey an apology in a look. He knew that Randy didn't like it but it wasn't like John could just leave Punk hanging when they had a plane to themselves.

Finally, Randy huffed and broke his gaze. "Fine."

John grinned and turned to Punk, who was looking between them with amusement shining in his eyes. "Did you two just have a fight without words?"

John's smile turned a bit sheepish. "Let's go."

"You guys aren't going to go at it in the aisle way, are you? Cause I'll miss all the house shows to avoid seeing that."

John reached out to snag Punk's shirt at his shoulder. "Shut up."

Xxxxxxxx

If there was one thing about John that Randy would probably never understand, it was the friendship that he had developed with Punk after their storylines back in 2011. The hatred they had spewed at each other on camera hadn't been entirely an act. In fact, they had gotten into several pretty heated fights without the camera's as well. How they had managed to turn that into such a close friendship in only a couple of months, Randy would never know.

Actually, Randy was pretty sure that it had happened pretty much overnight. John and Punk had gone from hating each other one week, to very nearly being best friends the next. Right at the moment, Randy was silently cursing that fact more than he ever had.

"How are you doing anyway?" John was asking as they boarded the plane and put away the luggage. His attention was focused solely on Punk for the moment.

"I'm fine. We've already had this discussion, haven't we?" There was something dark in Punk's expression and Randy frowned, curious despite himself.

"I know," John said. "But…I just wanted to make sure."

Randy's eyes narrowed. "What happened to you? You have another break up?" When Punk stiffened at the question and John threw him a reprimanding glare, Randy's eyes widened slightly. "Seriously?"

"It's none of your fucking business, Orton."

"Maybe it should be if you're going to run to John every time it happens," Randy countered, his temper rising for what was probably irrational reasons. "And considering how much it happens…"

A scowl formed on Punk's face. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, really? Just how many people backstage have you dated?" The women were well documented but Randy knew they were only half of it.

"I don't know. Probably not as many as you were fucking before you and John got together."

Randy moved closer to him. "Yeah? At least I found someone who can stand to stay with me for more than a couple of months."

Punk actually flinched at the words and the unexpected emotion that passed over Punk's expression made guilt spark in Randy's chest. Before Punk could retort, however, John got in-between them.

"Would you stop?" There was disappointment shining in his blue eyes and the fact that it was directed mostly towards Randy had that irrational anger rising up in him again, squashing the guilt.

"Could you both just…try and be civil? At least until we land?"

"Fine," Randy relented. Punk huffed when John turned his imploring gaze on him and dropped down in one of the seats, immediately going for his headphones.

Xxxxxxx

It happened fast, and almost halfway through their flight. Randy and Punk had been studiously ignoring each other since their fight and John was beginning to regret even booking the plane to begin with.

He'd anticipated having twenty hours of flight time with Randy all to himself, not being stuck in the middle of two pissed off men who both refused to even talk to him in the others presence. He wished they could just get along. They were both good guys…when they weren't in the same room together, anyway.

John had been just dozing off when it started, almost but not quite asleep when the cabin first started to shake. His eyes snapped open. Randy straightened beside him and he saw Punk pull his headphones out across from them.

At first, he thought they'd just hit a rough spot. He had a second where he almost relaxed and then the shaking started again. This time violently as the plummeted down. Panic forming in his chest, John squeezed his eyes shut again.

The last thing John felt before they crashed was Randy reaching out and gripping his hand tightly.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Randy became aware of was pain. In fact his whole body ached. Eyes still squeezed shut, he gritted his teeth when the worst of it made itself known, radiating out from his right leg.

"Randy?"

There were hands on his face then. "Baby, come on. Please." There was a voice begging him and Randy finally cracked his eyes open. He was met with concerned blue eyes, John leaning over him.

"What…?"

"Randy, listen." John leaned closer to him, and Randy tried to blink away the confusion. "We have to get out of here. I need you…I need you to stay awake for me." John's voice trembled and he had yet to remove his hands from Randy's head.

"What? I…" That was about the time that he caught sight of his surroundings and he remembered. The plane. The plane had crashed. Fear crashed down on him and he reached for John. "Are you-"

"I'm fine," John cut him off. "But we have to get out of here."

And he noticed then, finally, the reason why his feet were so cold and when he looked to the side he could see the water stretched out in the distance through the hole that had been ripped in the side of the plane.

John grabbed his arm. "I'll help you, okay? I doubt you'll be able to walk but-"

"Why wouldn't I-" He cut himself off when he looked down, and the fear hiked up into terror. There was blood. It stained his jeans, where they were ripped and that was where the pain was worst.

"We need to hurry, Randy," John urged him. "I need to get you out and…" He trailed off, helping Rand pull himself to his feat. Randy cried out when he tried putting weight on his right leg and leaned into John further.

The journey out of the plane and into the water was painful to say the least and he cried out again when the water hit his injury. He had barely grasped onto the piece of wreckage John had helped him onto before the other man let go again.

"I'll be right back."

"What? John-"

"Just…stay here. I'll be back."

The fear threatened to turn into panic when John started to swim back to the plane and he remembered, finally, when John reappeared again, that he and John hadn't been the only one's on the plane.

Randy swallowed thickly when he saw John holding up an unconscious Punk and he helped John the best he could get Punk up out of the water, halfway on top of the piece Randy was hanging onto.

"He won't wake up," John said. His eyes were wide, face pale, voice shaky. "The pilots are dead too."

"Fuck." Randy reached for Punk but he could see that the man was breathing. The problem came with the blood matted in his hair and the nasty wound on his head. "Fuck. What…what are we gonna do?"

Xxxxxxxxx

John was pretty sure that he had never been more terrified in his life. Treading water beside the wreckage of a plane with an injured boyfriend and unconscious friend. It had taken everything he'd had to hold off the panic long enough to get them both out.

Especially after what he'd seen of the pilots. He was certain that he'd have nightmares about that for the rest of his life, if he made it out of this alright.

He could see the lines of pain on Randy's face and the fear reflected in his grey eyes and Punk had yet to wake up. The weight that had settled down on him had almost been crushing when he'd realized they were both injured.

_"…what are we gonna do?" _

He'd almost laughed at the question, the hysteria threatening to bubble over. He had to close his eyes, tried to calm himself down.

"We'll be okay," he finally managed to force out. Punk, of course, always loved to prove him wrong. It was at that moment that he groaned and stirred.

"Hey," John called moving closer to him, relief blooming in his chest. It was, of course, short lived as Punk's eyes fluttered open. "Hey, man."

"John?" He mumbled, lips twisting in a grimace of obvious pain.

"Yeah. Yeah, thank god. Just…don't move around too much, alright. You took a nasty hit to the head."

"Why's it so dark?" Punk slurred out. "Lights go out?"

John froze and then shared a look with Randy. The bright, afternoon sun was shining down on them. This time, John couldn't help it. The hysterical laugh escaped him.

When Punk drifted off again, both John and Randy let him. Not even Randy, who had never liked the man could bring himself to say the words.

Xxxxxxxx

"Randy."

John's voice penetrated the haze that had started to surround him in the hours after they had first made it out of the plane. He hadn't drifted off and was still doing his best to help keep Punk from slipping down in the water but the shivering had started sometime ago.

The cold had settled in on his bones. But at least he figured he was doing better than Punk, who had drifted in and out of consciousness but hadn't been all that coherent. Randy wasn't even sure if he realized what had happened.

"Randy…look."

With a tired sigh, Randy gazed in the direction John was pointing and his breath caught in his throat. "Is that…?"

"Yeah." John sounded relieved but Randy glanced sideways. It looked to be a couple of miles away.

"How are we going to get him there?" Because there was no way that Punk was in any kind of shape to do any swimming.

"We take this with us," John said, slapping a hand against what they were floating on.

Randy's jaw set and he nodded. Both he and John took tighter holds of each of Punk's arms and they started kicking their feet, moving slowly towards land.

Xxxxxxxx

By the time they made it to land, he was exhausted, and his leg throbbed horribly but he still breathed out a sigh of relief when he was finally able to touch the bottom.

"Can you…?"

"Yeah," Randy answered John's question. He'd be able to walk the rest of the way, even if it was with a pronounced limp. John nodded before abandoning the piece they'd been floating on to sweep his arms around Punk and pick him up.

They collapsed as soon as they were fully out of the water, John laying Punk down as carefully as he could. John took a few moments to catch his breath before he propped himself up on his elbows.

Some debris had floated up to the island as well from the plane. A small surge of relief ran through him when he spotted one of the things that had floated up and he forced himself to stand, wading out to grab it before it was taken away with the tide.

Randy's suitcase, he realized. He dragged it up to the other two men, thankful that it was Randy's actual suitcase and not the duffel that only contained his wrestling gear.

"John."

Focused on the case, he only looked up at the urgency in Randy's tone. What he saw had him scrambling over. Randy had pulled Punk up because the other man was shaking and choking. Randy leaned over with him, keeping him steady and grimaced as Punk vomited everything that was in his stomach.

Punk's eyes were only half open and he seemed unaware of his surroundings. When it was over, he leaned back into Randy. John watched the scene with wide eyes. It was closer than he would have ever thought the other two men would get.

"John." Randy's eyes were wide as well, tone colored with the apprehension he felt. Punk was shaking in his arms and any animosity he may have felt before towards the man was lost at that moment.

"Shit." John stilled for a moment, unsure of what to do. What was he supposed to do? The wound on Punk's head wasn't bleeding any longer but it was caked with dried blood and sand. He needed…He needed…

"John?" Randy's voice was almost plaintive then as Punk shook harder in his arms.

"Yeah…yeah. I'll-" He cut himself off, closed his eyes as he tried to think. Water, right? They'd need clean water. He turned back to Randy's suitcase, opening it, and almost cried at the sight of the water bottles sitting on top of the clothes.

He pulled them out first before digging in it for one of Randy's white under shirts.

"Okay…okay." He moved back over to the two younger men. "Just…keep hold of him?"

Randy nodded as John ripped the shirt into strips. Randy held tighter to Punk as John began the task of cleaning the wound on his head and, without thinking, found himself murmuring low words of comfort when he jerked in Randy's arms, sounds of pain emitting from his lips. It wasn't until John had tied the makeshift bandage around Punk's temple that he realized what he was doing and he flushed a bit at the small smile on John's face.

"Shut up," he mumbled, embarrassed before he and John lay Punk back down, cushioning his head with another of Randy's shirts.

"I didn't say anything." John paused and his smile fell. "You ready?"

Randy nodded and John moved to do the same with Randy's leg.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Randy sat staring out at the ocean. His injured leg was stretched out and he'd pulled his other close to his chest. The sun was beginning to set and it was getting cooler as the day wore on.

"We should change," John commented. Randy nodded. The suitcase had been floating and most of his clothes that had been on top were dry. Randy turned and followed John's worried gaze down to Punk, who had curled up on his side, shaking again.

"Help me with him?" John requested.

Randy hesitated but eventially nodded. "Yeah."

It only took a few minutes. The shirt John was wearing was stretched a bit too tightly across John's chest but the sweats they'd picked out for Punk were, in contrast, too big. Randy was several inches taller and bigger, after all.

Randy stared down at Punk wearing his clothes. It was definitely a strange sight. But when he grimaced in his sleep, Randy found himself with the urge to reach out and soothe the lines of pain from his face.


	3. Chapter 3

Pain. That was the first sensation he woke up to. His head was pounding ruthlessly, so much so that the only thing he could manage upon waking was to curl into himself further and grit his teeth against it.

For several minutes, it was nearly impossible to think past it. But he was used to pain. Even this sort of pain. He'd always had an almost unnaturally high threshold for it, and remembered briefly the time he had cracked his skull during a match. He'd dealt then, he could now.

It was still…difficult to think, however, and when he tried to remember how he'd ended up like this again, he came up blank. He didn't open his eyes, not yet, knowing from experience that that would just make his head hurt worse depending on the lighting…wherever he was but he did move, and the pain in his head hiked up to agony again.

He wasn't sure through the blood rushing in his ears, but he was pretty sure that he'd let out a sound at that, maybe a whimper, and that somebody was calling his name. Warmth. The warmth of someone's hand on his head and he couldn't help but to lean slightly into it.

Finally, he opened his eyes, and then blinked several times. Wherever he was, it was dark. Pitch black, in fact. He couldn't see anything and all he could hear was the low murmur of that voice. It was familiar but he couldn't remember who it belonged to.

He would curse himself for the weakness later, but at that moment, the agony in his head was nearly all consuming and he couldn't see anything and he needed _something _solid to hold onto. So, he reached forward, towards that voice and tangled his fingers in fabric.

Xxxxxxxx

Randy stilled as he stared down at Punk, just a little wide-eyed. Clearly in pain, the other man had latched onto him. Punk had been fine during the night; as he and John had sat huddled close to him, getting only snatches of sleep themselves.

John had suggested he go try and find some more water upon the sun rising, suggested Randy stay with Punk. He'd protested a bit, but really, they needed it and there was no telling how long they'd be stuck where they were.

But now he was stuck with Punk, who had fisted a hand in his shirt. He still seemed pretty out of it and Randy stalled for a minute before he hesitantly brought his hands up and pulled Punk to his chest. The other man responded by burying his head there.

Randy rubbed his back awkwardly. He and Punk had hated each other for a long time, even more so since Punk and John had become friends. He was damn sure that if Punk was coherent enough to know who he was embracing, he would have already pushed Randy away.

And yet, Randy couldn't even force himself to detach from the embrace. Maybe it was only sympathy but there was something about the way he looked. Frowning in pain, shaking with it, in Randy's too large clothes.

There was something about it that made Randy pull him in closer rather than push him away. So, he did just that, speaking encouragements in a low whisper.

Xxxxxxxx

He wasn't sure how long he sat there with the other person holding onto him but it felt like hours before the pain in his head receded into something somewhat bearable. He lay as still as possible because moving would only make it worse again, even when he finally recognized the voice in his ear.

"Orton?" He asked, his voice coming out horse. And, Jesus, even talking made his head hurt worse. As did the jerk the body he was latched onto gave at the sound of his voice. He couldn't stop the low groan that escaped him, nor could he stop himself from fisting the shirt a little bit tighter.

"Shit, sorry," Randy spoke quietly. "But, yeah, it's Randy." Punk blinked a few times. It was still pitch black and he was finding it hard to think again.

"…Happened?"

"Just…we can talk about that later, man. You should be resting."

Punk didn't argue, didn't have the energy to. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that this was weird, that he shouldn't be clutching Orton like this but he couldn't find the energy to move either, especially considering the fact that it would only make the pain come back even stronger.

"Why's it so dark?" He managed to get out.

Silence. And then… "Just…rest, alright?" A hand went to the back of his head, smoothing down the hair there. If he was more coherent, he may have been a bit angry at that response. As it was, he couldn't even be worried about the fact that he was falling asleep in the arms of a man he had disliked for years.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Worry spurred John's movements back to the beach. He'd been gone longer than he'd expected to be, following a path through the trees that he was certain he could follow back but he'd been successful, at the very least.

When he made it back, he stopped short at the sight before him, again. There was Randy, holding a sleeping Punk against his chest. Any other time, any other situation, and John might have been jealous at the sight. In the current situation, he felt nothing but warmth at it.

He'd nearly worried himself sick over Punk and the fact that the only times he'd woken up, he hadn't been coherent. He and Punk had become friends, really good friends he thought, over the last couple of years and seeing the younger man in pain hurt him as well.

So, seeing the person most important to him holding him like that didn't spark jealousy, only a soft smile as he came over and knelt beside the two of them.

"How is he?" John asked, setting aside the newly filled water bottles.

Randy's lips thinned and there was something close to panic in his eyes. "Asked me why it was so dark out here."

John's fists clenched. The sun had risen over an hour ago, shining brightly in the morning sky. John had held onto an irrational hope that maybe Punk asking him that while they'd still been floating out at sea was a one off.

"Shit," he breathed.

"Yeah." Randy sighed and shifted so that he could lay Punk down again.

"Found some more water," John said, offering the bottle. "Also found a place we could stay under. Just in case it rains."

"You think we'll be here long enough for that?" Randy's voice was apprehensive as he asked and John looked down, shrugged.

"Don't know."

Randy let out a breath, his expression plaintive. "John…"

John moved around to him then, pulled him close. "Yeah. It's gonna be fine. They'll find us soon." He pulled Randy into a light kiss before looking down at Punk.

"We should wake him up; get him to drink something too."

Randy nodded, and John said nothing about the concern in Randy's eyes whenever he turned them on Punk.

Xxxxxxx

Something was wrong. Kofi stood near the back of the room filled with most of the roster. The pre-show meeting had been called late notice and the rumors were flying already. Actually they were flying through the room at the moment because there were a few people missing that should have been there.

Speaking of…Kofi glanced at his phone again. Punk hadn't texted him back. Not since that short message he'd sent telling Kofi that he'd gotten a ride with John and Randy. Two people who hadn't shown up either.

When Hunter came into the room with a somber look on his face, he knew something horrible had happened.


End file.
